dancing (like an old friend)
by manic pixie nightmare girl
Summary: Or six times Minerva met Death before her time, and one time she took his hand


**For Quidditch League**

**Cannons, Seeker (reserve): Incorporate the theme of 7 within your story **

**Word Count: 2774**

**Beta'd by Sam, Laura, and Elizabeth, and a big thank you to Amber for the Death&Minerva fic that made me want to try.**

* * *

I.

When she first met him, she was only four.

"Careful, girl," her father cautioned, guiding her hands so that she held on properly to the horse. "See? You're a natural."

Minerva grinned, pleased with herself. Her father was a strict man, and any praise was more than welcome. If he was proud of her for riding a horse, she would be the best rider possible.

She dug her tiny heels into the pony's flesh.

"Not too hard!"

But it was too late. The horse didn't like the sudden pressure. It neighed and bucked, tossing Minerva through the air, like she was little more than a ragdoll. Her small body crashed into the weathered wooden fence, and her head slammed against the ground. Within seconds, the world faded to black.

**x**

She recognized the man, but it didn't make any sense. He owned the bakery in the village and always gave Minerva a slice of cake whenever her mother was in there to buy bread. He shouldn't be here, but there was no mistaking the flour-dirty apron wrapped around his large belly or the twinkle in his blue eyes as he approached. His hands were covered with burns that came from years of tending to an oven.

"Minerva McGonagall," he said, stroking his grey-streaked beard. "There has to be some mistake. You aren't on the list yet."

"L-list?" Minerva looked around; only now did she realize that she was standing over her own body. Her father knelt beside the battered child–she refused to think of _that _as herself–and screamed for someone, probably her mother, but Minerva couldn't hear anything. "What happened?"

"Horrible accident," the baker said, but his voice lacked the warmth the real baker spoke with. He sounded like he was commenting on whether it might rain later. "You'll live, though I think it might be kinder to take you with me."

She blinked rapidly, trying to comprehend his words. It didn't make sense. Why would he take her? Her mother said there were bad people who did that, but he didn't seem like a bad man.

"Go home, Minerva," he said softly, smiling at her as he gestured toward the body on the ground. "You and I shall meet again, but now is not the time."

There was no way to explain what happened next. She began to drift back toward the body, and she couldn't resist the magnetic pull.

**x**

When Minerva opened her eyes, the first thing she noticed was the pain. She was in her room, tucked away in her bed, though she couldn't remember being moved inside.

"Mummy?" She tried to sit up, but the pain was too great. All she could do was lay there and cry.

Her mother rushed in, kneeling beside her. "I'm here, darling. I'm here."

Minerva tried to sit up again. A fresh wave of pain gripped her body, seeming to set in on fire.

"Don't try to move," her mother instructed. "Doctor Franklin said it was an awful fall. Seven broken bones."

Minerva hated having to lay still. The world was hers for the taking; why did she have to be stuck in bed? Why couldn't her mother break her own rule and use her magic to make everything better?

"Did Mr. Campbell bring any bread?" she asked. "I want some."

"Who?"

"Mr. Campbell," she repeated. "The baker."

"I know who he is, but why on earth would he be here?" her mother asked.

"I saw him!"

Her mother reached out and pressed her hand to Minerva's forehead. "You feel a little warm. Perhaps the fever is making you imagine things."

Minerva didn't argue. She knew better. Instead, she closed her eyes and huffed.

II.

On her seventh birthday, she met him again.

"Malcolm! Don't run!" she yelled.

But her younger brother didn't listen; he never did. Giggling like a fool, he ran faster, and Minerva gave chase. It wasn't easy to keep up with him. Her legs were quite short, and Malcolm had the energy that came with being a small child just outside of the toddler years.

"Malcom!" Her chest began to ache from breathing in the cool air, but she didn't stop. "You're going to miss out on cake!"

Minerva never saw the tree root jutting out of the ground. Her foot caught on it, and she was propelled forward, her head cracking against the rocky ground.

**x**

He didn't look like Mr. Campbell this time. Instead, he looked like Leith MacLeod from her father's church, but she knew it was the same person from before.

"Who are you?" she asked.

His thin lips pulled into a toothy smile as he leaned down and plucked a rock from the ground. "You seem to really like me," he chuckled, golden eyes sparkling with amusement. "Most people only meet me once, but here we are, yet again."

She shook her head, dark hair thumping against her cheeks. "I don't understand," she said.

"Sure you do." He tucked his fingers under her chin, gently guiding her face upward so that their eyes met. "You have such a clever mind, Minnie. Use it."

It wasn't fair. Mysteries were fun to solve, but this one made no sense. His face always changed, and everyone met him at some point.

"Don't worry," he said. "You'll understand one day, but not now. I have an appointment in Istanbul."

And with that, he was gone.

**x**

Minerva opened her eyes, sucking in a deep breath. Her parents and Malcolm hovered over her.

"Praise God," her father said, stroking her hair. "We thought we lost you."

For some reason, Minerva felt like maybe they had, if only for a moment.

III.

_Lucky number seven_. That was what they told her when she joined the Gryffindor Quidditch team as a Chaser. Minerva didn't actually believe in luck, but she enjoyed feeling special.

"Watch out!" Rosalind Shacklebolt called.

Minerva barely had time to register the warning. All she saw was a blur of black rushing toward her. Before she could even think about jerking her broom in a different direction, the Bludger crashed into her side, knocking the wind out of her. She fell, and the world slowly began to fade around her, growing black around the edges until darkness enveloped her.

**x**

He was still Leith MacLeod when he came to her this time. When their eyes met, he offered her a polite smile. "You really are an impatient one," he noted, his tone light and teasing. "How old are you now? Seventeen?"

She nodded. How did he know? This was their third meeting, but it was strange that he could know anything about her at all.

"Still haven't figured it out, have you?" he mused, brushing his fingers through his chestnut hair. "I thought it would have been obvious."

"I don't like games," she snapped, stamping her foot. It felt like a ridiculous gesture, like a small child throwing a tantrum. "Just tell me who you are and why you keep stalking me."

"Stalking _you_?" Something in his expression darkened. His golden eyes changed into something so ancient that Minerva dropped to her knees, unable to cope with the sheer awesomeness of his gaze. "My dear, you are the one who keeps coming into my domain before your time."

It was like a missing puzzle piece fell into place. In that moment, Minerva could see him clearly, but she couldn't describe him at all. He was everything and nothing all at once. "I know you."

"I am inevitable," he said.

**x**

"Death," she said, eyes opening.

Pomona was at her bedside, keeping watch. When Minerva spoke, the Hufflepuff jumped slightly, holding her hand over her chest and chuckling. "Death?" she echoed, shaking her head. "Thankfully, no. You're still in the land of the living."

Minerva wasn't really listening. She sat up, wincing at the pain in the movement. Whatever injuries she had weren't completely healed yet, but she could move easily enough. "Death," she said again. "That's… That's who I…"

She trailed off, realizing she never told her dear friend about her previous encounters. Would Pomona understand? Death told Minerva that most people only met him once; somehow, she figured Pomona wouldn't be like her.

"Never mind," Minerva murmured.

She wondered if anyone else in this world knew what it was like to come face to face with Death the way she had.

IV.

Minerva didn't particularly like water, but it was hard to refuse when Robert invited her to join him and his wife, Marianne, on the lake for a picnic lunch.

"Remember when we were kids, Min?" her brother asked, leaning over in the boot and touching his fingertips to the dark water, sending gentle ripples along. "Malcolm would always throw you in."

"And Malcolm often ended up with a black eye," she reminded him dryly.

There was something in his grin that made her feel uneasy. Minerva stiffened, trying to anticipate his next move, but he was too fast. Quick as a flash, he managed to grab her, rocking the boat with the sudden movement.

"Stop that!" Marianne called, but it was too late. The boat capsized, and they all went overboard.

Minerva knew how to swim, but the rush of it all made it hard for her to focus. Slimy underwater plants tangled around her ankle, holding her down. Try as she might, she couldn't kick herself free.

Her lips parted, and she tried to scream for help. A stream of bubbles came out, but the sound was muffled by the water. She tried again and again, thrashing about and screaming, determined to find a way out of this mess as her lungs began to burn.

**x**

He seemed to be waiting for her. This time, he looked like her father, though his smile was warmer than her father's could ever be. "We really must stop meeting like this," he said, treading the water. His voice was crystal clear, despite their location.

"I don't want to die."

"No one does," he said, shrugging. "Don't worry, though; it isn't your time."

"Then why are you here?" she asked. "Why do you keep coming for me?"

"Because you keep dancing with me. What do you expect, Minerva? It's rude to deny a beautiful woman a dance when offered."

Minerva didn't understand, but she didn't question it. Maybe it wasn't supposed to make sense. In her twenty-seven years, she realized death didn't have to make sense. She didn't know why anyone was taken, and she had a feeling she would never get an answer to this.

"It's an honor to keep meeting you," he added.

"I haven't done anything worthwhile," she said, brows raising.

Death just smiled at her, swimming closer. "Not yet," he agreed. "But you will."

**x**

She coughed as she sat up, dirty water spilling from her mouth.

"You're back," Robert said, his voice saturated with relief as he pulled her into a hug.

"Back?" It was hardly the first time she suffered a serious injury, but there was something in his tone that told her this was different. She shivered, pulling away and searching his dark eyes for answers. "I didn't go anywhere."

"You were dead," Marianne said, her voice soft and barely audible. "You were dead for seven minutes."

V.

Years passed, and she kept out of trouble. It seemed easier in her old age. Her days of running wild and free were behind her; she was a professor and had to set a good example for her students.

But trouble still found her.

They wanted to take Hagrid away, and she refused to let them move on him without a fight. Minerva liked to think of herself as a pacifist, but she was ready for bloodshed. Umbridge could not keep tearing this school apart.

"_Stupefy!_"

The spell was repeated three more times, all at once. They hit her in the chest, and the world disappeared from view.

**x**

"This is it, isn't it?" she whispered.

She should have been at peace. She lived a long, full life, and that should have been enough. It wasn't. Even as she stood there, caught in a world between the lands of the living and the dead, there was a voice in the back of her mind that screamed for her to turn back. Umbridge was still out there, and Minerva needed to protect the children.

"Not yet," came a painfully familiar voice from behind.

She turned, and her heart dropped to her stomach. Elphinstone stood before her, looking young and handsome with his dark hair and tailored suit. Though he was younger than the man she knew and married, she would recognize those crystal blue eyes anywhere.

It wasn't him, of course. Death did a good job shaping his disguises, but she learned to see through them.

"My children need me," she said.

Death nodded. "They do," he told her. "Go to them, dear Minerva. It is your destiny."

**x**

She recognized St. Mungo's immediately. With a groan, she allowed herself to sink into the fluffy pillows. She hated hospitals, but she had a feeling she was stuck here for a while. Her body was too weak.

"Oh, you're awake!" The Healer hovered over her, smiling brightly. "We were beginning to worry."

Minerva closed her eyes. They always worried, but she didn't blame them. It must have been horrible for others to witness whatever went on when she had her extended visits with Death.

"You were out for seven hours."

Minerva frowned. That number always seemed to follow her. Seven broken bones, a nasty head injury on her seventh birthday, and so many others. She wondered if people could be haunted by numbers, but she decided not to put too much energy into it. Sometimes life made about as much sense as death.

VI.

Her body was growing frailer, but she didn't think much about it anymore. She could still get around the castle, and she didn't need much agility. Besides, she was only seventy-seven; she was still young.

"I don't know what we'll do without you," Neville said as they walked down the staircase together. "Hogwarts will never be the same."

"It will be in good hands, Mr. Longbottom," she assured him. "I think it's time that I finally rest."

They walked in comfortable silence, interrupted only by the sudden groan of the staircase as it began to shift. The movement caught her off guard, and the sudden momentum made her lose her balance. Neville reached for her, but her fingers barely grazed her hand before she went tumbling down the stone stairs.

**x**

"Am I dead this time?"

If she was honest, this was starting to get old. Maybe there was something exciting about the mystery of it in her youth, but she was old and tired now. If she had to be plagued with mysteries, she wanted to learn the answers. She was tired of not knowing.

"Not yet," Death said.

She couldn't see him, but his voice was loud and clear in her mind, and it made her feel peaceful. She smiled. "I suppose we shall continue our game of cat and mouse."

**x**

"I thought we lost you," Neville said. "That was quite a fall."

Minerva only laughed. "My dear boy, I've had worse."

VII.

On the seventh day of the seventh month of her hundredth year, Minerva met him for the last time.

He was waiting for her when she woke, though she had a feeling she wasn't actually awake. A quick glance behind her confirmed her theory. Her body was still in bed, tucked away beneath a thin blanket. If she didn't know any better, she would think she was only sleeping.

"I've waited a long time for this." Death wore Dougal's face this time. His blue eyes lit up as he held out his hand for her to take. "It's been a privilege meeting you time after time."

She knew this day would come. Death was always inevitable, and there was something so fitting about this moment, like a chapter was finally closing. Her seventh meeting with Death would be her last, and she was okay with that.

"What's on the other side?" she asked.

Death moved closer, hand still outstretched and waiting. "Come now," he said, chuckling softly. "That's part of the mystery, isn't it? Where's the fun in spoiling it?"

She didn't know what was waiting for her, but it didn't matter. She'd waited for this moment, for the opportunity to solve the last great riddle of life. Without hesitation, she took his hand and allowed him to lead her into the great hereafter.


End file.
